


Things we do in bed

by Howling_Harpy



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Married Life, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sharing a Bed, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24611452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howling_Harpy/pseuds/Howling_Harpy
Summary: A series of moments through Ron and Carwood's relationships.
Relationships: Carwood Lipton/Ronald Speirs
Comments: 15
Kudos: 76





	1. Cross paths

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to build a series of very short stories around a theme. The theme ended up being "a shared bed", and of course this is speirton. I wrote these as warm-ups and practice for keeping things short. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the series!

It was just after dawn when Ron finally got home. He opened the front door as quietly as he could and sneaked inside, then closed it just as carefully behind him. He took his full pack off his back, lowered it on the floor and let it lean against the wall. He pulled the laces of his boots loose, took the shoes off and put them next to the pack. 

He was beyond exhausted and it felt like arriving home had made the feeling break through the dam of professionalism. Ron sneaked on the tips of his toes to the bedroom without bothering with anything like breakfast or a shower. 

The bedroom was dark with only a thin sliver of light slipping into the room from the very edges of the curtains. The man in the bed had his back towards the door and was soundly asleep under the covers. 

Ron approached his side of the bed and started to shed his uniform. A part of him just wanted to drop every article of clothing on the floor and leave them wherever they landed, but he had enough self-discipline to fold them and set them on the chair by his bedside table in a neat pile. 

Ron was careful when he finally climbed into the bed, but still the mattress dipped under his knee and the man on the other side shifted and muttered in his sleep. When he lifted the covers to slip under them and inevitably let cool air in, he heard the rhythm of the other’s breathing change.

Ron slipped under quickly and let the covers fall again. The soft mattress and his pillow were tempting his weary body, but still he fought the urge to just collapse and fall asleep, his eyes fixed on the other man. 

Carwood took a deep breath and let it out in a puff. He didn’t open his eyes but was somewhat awake, rolling onto his back and stretching his sleep-stiff limbs. While at it, he happened to reach across to Ron, who smiled when fingers touched his shoulder.

Ron lay down on his side, letting his head rest on Carwood’s arm.

“You’re home,” Carwood mumbled, his voice hoarse from sleep and his eyes still closed, but his affection clear in the way his fingers kept petting Ron. “What time is it?”

“Too early still,” Ron replied, inching closer to Carwood’s warmth under the covers. “You still have a few hours before you have to get up.”

“Mmm that’s nice,” Carwood said in a sigh and turned onto his side to face Ron before curling up again. 

For a moment his breathing settled again into that deep, steady rhythm of a person who rests, and Ron felt his own achingly tired body being lulled by it. But he couldn’t bear to close his eyes yet, not in this little moment when Carwood, roused from his sleep, had turned to him and still reached out even though their bed was big enough to allow them to lie side by side without touching.

Carwood didn’t sleep, but didn’t open his eyes either. His knuckles kept absently stroking Ron’s shoulder. “How was it, the field exercise?” he muttered into his pillow. 

“It was fine,” Ron replied, “Long. Hard. But we pulled through and managed to stick to the ordered timetable.”

Carwood made a sound of content acknowledgement and shifted closer to Ron, who opened his arms to allow him.

“You smell of gunpowder and dirt,” Carwood noted with a quirk of lips. 

“I know. Too tired to shower, I suppose,” Ron said.

“That’s okay,” Carwood murmured, his lips barely moving as he drifted off.

Ron listened to his breathing and felt the hand that was lazily petting him stop and relax. He burrowed his head into his pillow and pushed into the warm embrace of his sleeping partner, finding his way into the same shallow dip in the mattress and letting the warmth surround and soothe him. 

A few more hours. Ron closed his eyes.


	2. Tend to the sick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the domesticity continue! We all know how the sick fic trope goes for them in canon, but here's another perspective. 
> 
> (Thank you for kudos and the comment! You are darlings.)

“To hell with the new recruits, I say. This is ridiculous and everyone knows it!” Ron grumbled with his arms crossed and teeth gritted, his unbuttoned shirt hanging from his shoulders.

Carwood sat down next to him on the edge of the bed and opened the little medical kit he had fetched from the bathroom, ignoring Ron’s fuming.

“Confined to your home… Contagious… Bullshit, is what I call that,” Ron went on, but undermined his own point with his rasping voice and spots of sweat clearly visible on his undershirt. 

“Now, now. Doctor’s orders,” Carwood pacified him in passing as he took out the thermometer and started to shake it.

“Bull. Shit,” Ron said back, then coughed like trying to spit out gravel from his lungs. “Even you don’t believe it. You wouldn’t need to take my temperature if you believed I was sick.”

“I’m taking your temperature to find out if I need to take you to the hospital,” Carwood replied calmly, then grabbed Ron’s shirt and shoved the thermometer into his armpit. “Keep it there for five minutes. Lying down would help.”

Ron bared his teeth when cold metal dug into his skin, but crossed his arms once again right away. He narrowed his eyes at Carwood. “I don’t need to lie down as I’m not sick,” he said.

Carwood didn’t say anything back, just looked. Ron was sickly pale with a feverish flush on his cheeks, his eyes were cloudy and he was shivering slightly all over, but still sweating. His normally so smooth voice was now stuffy and rough like sandpaper, and every now and then a horrible coughing fit overtook him, rattling deep inside his chest. And still he had fought the order to get bedrest until he had been practically carried out of the base, and now at home he refused to undress and get into bed even though Carwood was certain he could tip over at any moment. 

“You are sick,” Carwood said matter-of-factly, “and you need to get rest. You need to take off your trousers and your shirt, change into pyjamas and get under the covers, consume a lot of liquids and eat something.”

Ron’s glare hadn’t ever affected Carwood much and it didn’t now, not even in its full stubborn glory. All it invoked in Carwood was worry about the feverish gleam in his eyes and the chapped lips. 

“I should be at work, that’s what I need,” Ron insisted.

Carwood refused to sigh. “No, you need to be resting.”

Ron pushed his chin forward and hissed through his teeth. “I have never slacked off like that! I have always carried out my mission! Did I give up in Normandy? Or Ardennes? Or Foy? Or Pyongyang? No, I have always carried out my duty – “ 

“Your _duty_ is to take care of yourself!” Carwood interrupted him, then stopped himself just short of shoving his partner down on the bed. He knew well from experience that it wouldn’t help, and even his harsh outburst was already earning him a hard stare promising a storm in his way, even if the man bringing it would have to cough up clumps from his lungs while raging it. 

Carwood took a deep breath and let his shoulders slump with it, then put on his sweetest smile. “I worry about you, is all,” he said, fondling the covers as he spoke, wanting to pull them over the other.

Ron seemed suddenly uneasy and rolled his shoulders even though they must have ached. “You don’t need to worry. I’m fine, it’s just – “ 

Carwood didn’t let him explain but reached under his shirt to fetch the thermometer. “102 degrees,” he said. “You definitely have fever, which means you need bedrest, as you fully well know!” Carwood got up and went to the closet to get Ron’s pyjamas. He sat back on the bed and set the folded clothes on the other’s lap. Ron stared at the bundle with obvious discontent, but it had a worn-down note to it by now.

Carwood leaned closer and set his palm first against Ron’s cheek, then his forehead. “Yeah, you’re definitely warm. You need to get under the covers and sleep that off.” 

Ron huffed through his stuffy nose in protest, but under Carwood’s gentle hands his glare fell and turned into a petulant frown. He looked deeply unhappy with the situation, and Carwood wondered if his hands felt cool on his clammy cheek while he stroked it. 

“Please, dear? For me?” Carwood pleaded.

Ron looked pained, then finally shook off his shirt and damp undershirt, undid his belt and kicked off his trousers before pulling on his pyjamas. He didn’t meet Carwood’s eyes, but he didn’t grumble or complain anymore either, and Carwood took that as a good sign to keep smiling and caressing.

Despite the earlier near argument, Carwood’s heart still throbbed with tenderness when he pulled the covers aside and helped Ron crawl underneath them. His partner was a strong, capable soldier, but illness made him seem smaller and frailer somehow. Even though he would never voice such thoughts to Ron, something in his chest squeezed when he got to fuss over him like this and make sure he was comfortable and warm in their bed. He took his own pillow and gave it to Ron to elevate his head more, then pulled the covers up again and folded them into a nest that kept Ron warm but didn’t wrap him up too tightly. 

Carwood patted Ron’s thigh on top of the covers. “There. Now sleep. I’ll bring you water and make chicken soup for when you wake up.”

Ron looked up to him with exhausted affection and sighed. Carwood felt a suffocating wave of tenderness under the gaze, but when he tried to lean in to kiss him, Ron dodged him.

“Don’t kiss me, I’ll infect you.”

Carwood couldn’t keep himself from remarking: “Oh, so _now_ you’re contagious?” 

“Don’t try me,” Ron said without any bite, burrowed under the covers and pressed the side of his face into Carwood’s pillow.


	3. Cope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my personal favorites of all these one-shots.

The department store was almost like a world of its own, full of bright colours and lights and neat rows of products some people who made such decision for a living had decided were the best. In Ron Speirs’ opinion there was something uncanny in these new giant stores that pretended they were homely and welcoming even with a price tag on every item on sight. 

This floor was full of splinters of fake homes, little scenes of bedrooms with various stylish furniture sets, colour schemes and price ranges. But what Ron cared about was not the style and not even really the prices; what he cared about could be measured, hence the measuring tape he carried and used on every single bedframe that looked like it could do the job. 

He didn’t like shopping, but Carwood seemed to outright hate it. He circled every bed like they were death traps and refused to comment more than two words on anything. Most Ron got him to do was to test a mattress, and even then he just sat on the very edge of it and deemed it “alright.” 

“Come on, we need a new bed,” Ron sighed when they had been through about half of the floor with no progress. 

Carwood couldn’t deny it, but that didn’t mean he would admit it. He was uncharacteristically gloomy, his brows in a deep frown and his shoulders squared against the bright lights and “irresistible deals”. 

His ribs and the side of his face throbbed and they both knew it, but still Ron smiled. “Won’t you say what you think of this one?” he coaxed, sitting down on yet another soft mattress.

Carwood might have, but he didn’t get the chance when a young woman in a smart suit and pearls with a bright smile walked up to them. “Good day, gentlemen. May I help you?” she asked. A brass nametag shone on her black jacket. 

Carwood looked caught off guard, so Ron got up from the mattress he had been testing and took control of the situation. “Good day. We – I mean my friend here, needs a new bed.” 

“I see. Did you have anything special in mind?” the saleswoman asked Carwood, who shifted his feet and didn’t know what to say. The woman was smiling and asking routine questions, but seemed slightly thrown by the reluctance of her appointed customer.

Ron did the talking: “Wider. The regular double has proven too narrow.” 

“Oh,” the woman said. “May I ask how?”

“Because of personal reasons,” Ron said sternly. In a kinder tone, he added: “Maybe you could point us in the direction of your wider bedframes? We’ll look for you when we’ve decided.” 

She was just as cordial and professional as before, but still gave them a few curious glances that Ron couldn’t miss but pretended he did. She cleared her throat delicately. “You might want to consider a queen-sized bed, or maybe even a king. The models are all over, but if you just check the labels for sizes queen and king, I’m sure you’ll find what you need.”

“Thank you very much,” Ron said, and with that and a nod the saleswoman left them alone. 

They watched her go, and when she was out of hearing range, Ron turned to Carwood again. “You heard her. Come on, we’ll search for a good frame and think about the mattress then.”

When he was directly commanded and Ron started to lead the way, Carwood had to follow. After that point he was slightly more cooperative, but still looked at the beds as if they were coffins and he had to pick one for himself. 

After a few more tense minutes Ron had had enough. “We’re getting a new bed so that we can sleep in peace. That’s all. No need to take it so personally,” he said.

There was a painful twitch on Carwood’s face. “But this is personal. This whole thing is an unnecessary and expensive endeavour.”

Ron felt Carwood’s guilty gaze on the bruise on his cheek. “I’m buying us a new bed and that’s that,” he said sharply, took Carwood by the elbow and started to lead him towards a section that appeared to have what they were looking for. “Now help me pick something you’ll like.”

Carwood dragged his feet but followed, and Ron let go of his arm before they started to draw attention. Instead of dragging his partner along, Ron started looking at the product descriptions and took the measuring tape to the first queen-sized bed he came across and to his relief learned that it would fit in their bedroom without a problem.

“I don’t mean to push you away. I don’t want any further away from you,” Carwood muttered behind him, sounding like he didn’t think he deserved to voice such a thought.

Ron dropped the tag he was reading and turned fully towards Carwood, who was inspecting his shoes.

“We’re getting a new bed because I won’t sleep anywhere else except next to you,” Ron assured quietly. “We are adapting to a situation. And if this helps you, it’s not unnecessary. Got it?” 

Carwood lifted his gaze from his shoes to meet Ron’s, who didn’t miss the way they again flicked to his cheek. He got only the smallest nod from Carwood, but that was enough for the moment.


	4. Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No relationship is perfect, not even this one. This was inevitable.

The bedroom felt chilly in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. Carwood stepped in carefully, his step uncertain with not knowing if he should announce his presence or sneak in, leaving him on strange middle ground of empty gestures and creaking floorboards.

Turning the light on would have felt like an antagonizing move so Carwood didn’t do it, and in any case light wasn’t needed to see Ron already in bed, firmly on his own side with his back turned. 

The line of Ron’s shoulders was taut, revealing him both awake and still mad. Carwood closed the door quietly after him and approached the bed like treading through a minefield. He unbuttoned his shirt and set his trousers aside, then took out a fresh tie for the next workday and put it on top of the neat pile of clothes. In his undershirt and boxer briefs he turned towards the bed again and faced the inevitable phase where he got in bed with Ron. 

Ron hadn’t glanced at him once, just continued to stubbornly lay on his side, facing away and quietly fuming. 

Carwood let out a soft sigh, then gently put his knee on the edge of the mattress and lifted his side of the covers. Like approaching a wild animal, Carwood set his weight on the bed very slowly as if a single sudden movement could set something off. Apparently they were playing a game where Ron pretended not to notice another grown man crawling under the same duvet of the same double bed, but alongside annoyance Carwood felt a sting of pain at how long the other was willing to draw this out.

It was as chilly in the bed as it was in the room. Carwood was tense as he lay on his side, his pillow felt lumpy but he didn’t make a move to fluff it, and a vast amount of cool sheet expanded between him and Ron, who was huffing like he was pretending to be asleep but doing a poor job at it on purpose. 

The mattress groaned when Carwood shifted closer, making him grimace. The grimace turned into a flinch when Ron moved with him, but instead of curling towards he leaned as far away to the edge of the bed as he could without falling off. His back was arched like that of an angry cat, and Carwood knew he wasn’t permitted to touch. 

The shared cover was pulled tight between them and did nothing to keep the cold air out. It felt like they were the pegs of a tent on opposite sides and their duvet the canvas suspended between them but sheltering nothing but their overdue anger. 

“I need you to know that I never wanted to hurt you in any way,” Carwood whispered in the dark. 

Ron didn’t move, not even flinch, and Carwood felt his heart squeezing into itself in pain. 

“I don’t mean any harm, but I have things I want too, and sometimes it feels like you’re not listening to me,” he continued. “I want to be with you, but I too want my share of life.” He picked at a loose thread on the edge of his pillowcase and wished he could pull the tension between them apart at seams too.

Still there was no response, just the mute rejection of Ron’s stiff back and shoulders that could remain in perfect attention for hours if needed. 

“It’s cold here,” Carwood said in his last attempt at reaching out, his voice thin and quiet.

Ron’s shoulders slumped. There was a weary sigh and he rolled his head on his pillow before reluctantly leaning back far enough to glance over his shoulder. His eyes gleamed in the dark.

“I want to give that to you, but sometimes I don’t know how,” Ron muttered. His voice was soft and quiet, and his words barely articulated like he was speaking a foreign language he barely knew. 

“You should ask me more often,” Carwood replied. 

Ron glanced down, his dark lashes obscuring the look in his eyes. He rolled onto his back, the duvet pooling between them. “I know. I think I’m more frustrated with myself and my own shortcomings than with anything that’s got to do with you.”

Carwood hummed a hesitant acknowledgement. He curled his arm around his pillow. “Then don’t take it out on me,” he said.

There was a pained grimace on Ron’s face, and he turned onto his side, finally fully facing Carwood. There was an apologetic twist in the corner of his mouth, and carefully he reached out with his hand to brush against Carwood’s cheek. He kept his eyes downcast in a look that spelled shame. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn’t have.” 

Carwood got comfortable on his pillow and turned his face to receive the caress with a content hum. “I’m sorry for what I said too.”

Ron gave him a soft look and shifted closer. He reached on top of the duvet and smoothed the thick cover over them, tucking it over Carwood’s shoulders. It was warm again.


	5. (Just) sleep together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not always a good time.

Carwood had his bedside lamp on and he was sitting up with his pillow between his back and the headboard even though he knew he should have been asleep already. There were too many thoughts rushing through his head, too many for him even to read, and so he just guiltily eyed his half-finished novel on the bedside table. 

The light in the bathroom went off, and Ron walked into the bedroom. He stretched languidly before climbing into bed next to Carwood, who was so used to having him there he didn’t even glance toward him as he did.

Ron leaned onto Carwood’s side and his hand touched his arm. He ran the warm palm along his bicep and leaned closer, nestled his head on his shoulder and sighed hot air onto his collarbone. He turned his head so that his wet lips found Carwood’s neck, and the open-mouth kiss together with an insistent squeeze of his arm while Ron pressed ever closer was an unmistakable demand.

Carwood huffed and leaned away. Ron tried to follow him with his lips and a yearning groan, but Carwood lifted his shoulder to shield his neck from any more kisses. 

Ron leaned back to look at him, brows raised.

“Not tonight,” Carwood said apologetically. “I’m not in the mood.”

Ron didn’t lean further away or let go of his arm. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

Carwood shrugged. The truthful answer would have been ‘not really’, but still he felt just uneasy enough to be turned off. “Just some work stress,” he said, rubbing his brow. “We’re doing these upgrades which mean huge purchases of new equipment, and I hate to say this, but I don’t fully trust the guy who was put in charge of it. I can’t say anything about it since it’s not my job, but dealing with the equipment he decides to buy will be, so…” 

They were minor problems that Carwood was sure he could sort through, but standing the uncertainty and preparing for a possible disaster in itself was frustrating. 

Ron looked understanding and nodded, slowly leaning on his own side of the bed and slumping down on his pillow. His expression was neutral, but he shifted on his place more than usual, and Carwood knew he was tampering down his rejected desires. 

But Ron got comfortable and eventually stopped fidgeting and adjusting. He patted the mattress. “Come on, lie down. Turn that light off and get some rest.”

Carwood obeyed, grateful that he had been ordered out of his restless procrastination. He put his pillow back where it belonged and flicked the lamp off. In the sudden darkness that fell into the room he lied down, burrowed into his soft pillow and wrapped the duvet around himself, letting its warmth seep into his bones.

“There,” Ron muttered. “You need sleep. It’s the best medicine for stress.”

“Yeah, I know,” Carwood admitted. He did know, but he couldn’t entirely shake the feeling of wasting time. He felt slightly guilty about not being up for it tonight since Ron was on leave and they didn’t always have this many nights in bed together.

“I only want to be near you,” Ron said as if reading his mind and reached for him. “So come closer, would you?”

Carwood hummed and shifted closer. A wave of affection rose like a tide and made him reach over, wrap his arm around Ron and give him a clumsy squeeze. He didn’t miss the way Ron pressed his nose into a spot just behind his ear and inhaled. 

They returned on their own sides once they got tired of hanging onto each other, and with easing their hold came a drowsy feeling promising deep sleep. Their pillows pressed together and their duvets overlapped, and in the middle of it was a place where there was no space or a line between them, only things they shared.


	6. The first time

Setting camp in Haguenau wouldn’t have felt so amazing just a few months ago, but there was something about freezing cold and sleeping in pits in the ground that made one appreciate a roof over his head, even if all four walls weren’t quite there. 

Ron Speirs felt something easing up in the atmosphere even with the occasional mortar attack when he was assigning Easy in billets and setting up a place for the company command. Just being able to give the men houses and even beds was a victory in his book, one that wasn’t dimmed even by the muddy roads that threatened to swallow the boots from their feet. 

There weren’t that many beds available, and Ron was glad when he was able to drag First Sergeant Lipton into a room with one. Ron had to half carry the man, who was soldiering on by pure stubbornness with his pneumonia, barely knowing where he was going. 

Ron was honestly concerned for the man. He knew a good soldier when he saw one and couldn’t imagine anyone better than First Sergeant (soon to be Lieutenant) Lipton to stand by his side, but the illness that had taken over the man was truly a serious one. He had been sick for a long time, and by this point he was both shivering and sweating, nearly delirious with fever, and pale as snow.

And still he tried to make Ron take the only bed in the room. 

“You’re an officer,” Lipton tried to argue.

“You’re sick,” Ron said back and hauled the man to the bed, where he fell surprisingly easily once Ron let go of him.

Once he was dropped, Lipton seemed to be unable to move even a bit. He lay on his back in the middle of fresh sheets, covers and a knitted blanket moaning in a tired, pained voice, and Ron felt a rush of something he didn’t have time for. He stared down at the man for a moment, then glanced at the many covers and sheets around him and felt an almost overpowering desire to wrap him in them. 

“Come on, let’s get you some rest. You can’t die on me now that we are finally inside a house,” Ron said, speaking mostly to distract himself from what he was doing. He leaned down to take Lipton’s legs and lifted them properly on the bed, then started to rearrange the covers on him while ignoring how mad the situation was. 

Lipton muttered something unintelligible and shifted minorly to the direction where Ron was pushing him, crawling further on the bed while taking difficult, rattling breaths, his eyes closed. 

Eventually Lipton stopped moving altogether and his breathing settled a bit, and Ron wondered if he had fallen asleep. He put the thickest duvet on the man and was about to lean back and sneak away, when Lipton turned onto his side towards Ron and mumbled, surprisingly clearly: “It’s cold. You’re warm.” 

Ron froze. The words were clear and sounded lucid, and together with turning towards him the invitation seemed blatant, but he was careful not to jump to any conclusions. As he stood there, frozen and half leaning over the bed, Lipton shifted closer to him again, curling up and looking so vulnerable that Ron felt his heart aching. 

He really didn’t have time for things like this.

Lipton reached with his hand that was as pale as the rest of him, searching for Ron but his fist closing on sheets. Ron looked at that hand for a moment, then crawled on the bed and carefully lay down next to the man. 

In the dark Ron dared to mirror the man next to him, and considering his illness pressed up against him to warm him. Lipton sighed and curled up against his chest, nuzzling into his warmth in a way that made Ron wonder if he really was asleep while his own heart started beating faster. 

He put his arms around Lipton and felt the way his sides moved with his breathing while listening to the worrisome crackle from his lungs, but felt also how he relaxed and stopped shivering. He felt the shape of the man, his broad shoulders, taut middle and his strong thighs, and occasionally a dry brush of his lips against his neck.

There was dirt in the bed from their uniforms, but it didn’t matter. The bed was perfect for two, the mattress dipping in the middle creating a soft nest that warmed up quickly, and in it they were curled up together in a way that made Ron think of marriage. He lay awake for a long while with his heart thumping and warmer than he could remember ever feeling.

He really, truly didn’t have time for this, but eventually calmed himself by thinking: It’s just for this one night.


	7. The last time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last one of these little moments. I hope this concludes the series and nicely. 
> 
> Thank you to all the readers who have commented and left kudos. <3

All that was left of the evening tea were the stains in the cups, but Carwood couldn’t be bothered with washing them and left them in the sink. A bit guilty about his laziness he did make a neat pile of them, but left them altogether. He was tired that night, and his body ached in a way that had long ago become his new normal. Still, when he reflected on his age, he concluded it had been kinder to him than most, even if there was no denying the exhaustion travelling had left him with. For a moment he leaned on the sink and rubbed his knuckles against his chest, hoping to persuade his body to return back to normal. Had Europe always been that far, he wondered. 

When he leaned over to turn the light above the sink off, Carwood spotted a pair of glasses left there next to the dish soap bottle and the plug, and on well-practiced reflex picked them up. It was half past nine and Ron had gone to bed, so Carwood decided to join him and turned the rest of the lights off before making his way to the bedroom.

The lamp on Ron’s side was on and the man himself was sitting on the edge of the bed when Carwood stepped in. He had changed into his pyjamas but not climbed under the covers, simply sitting still and so lost in thought that he seemed to be in another world altogether.

Despite the ache in his heart Carwood smiled at the sight, endeared. “You forgot your glasses. Here you go,” he said gently, leaning over Ron to set them on his bedside table.

Ron blinked out of whatever depths he had been lost to, frowned at his glasses, and all he said was, “oh.”

Carwood didn’t say anything more either, just went to his side of the bed and carefully sat down. His knees hadn’t been giving him especially much trouble of late but a higher bedframe with a firmer mattress had been a welcome change in any case, and especially now getting into his own bed made deep relief wash over him. He leaned back and pulled the comforter over his legs, its warmth melting the remains of pain and leaving him utterly content. 

He leaned back on his pillows, sighed, and then turned to watch Ron, who was still sitting on the edge like he intended to stay right there. He looked tired judging by the slumped line of his shoulders to his white hair, but still he sat upright as if he had forgotten how to sleep. Carwood watched him silently for a moment and took in how even though he was still tall and broad for a man of eighty, he had gained a note to his demeanour that was permanently exhausted, and their long trip had only underlined that.

Carwood reached out and brushed a gentle hand against his partner’s back, pulling him again out of the depths he had slipped into. Ron looked at him over his shoulder and Carwood smiled.

“It was really nice to meet everyone again, wasn’t it?” Carwood said. 

The bedside lamp’s light was soft and it was filtered through a red lampshade, illuminating Ron gently instead of any brighter light that might have ended up revealing something sad. But the green of his eyes was still clear, and his gaze alert even if tired. “Yeah, it was,” he agreed with a hint of a smile. He leaned back against Carwood’s hand that ran up and down his back, welcoming the affection out of habit. 

For a moment Ron didn’t seem to be willing to move just because of being petted, but after that moment he finally huffed and pulled his body on the bed, lying down next to Carwood. “Did you take your medication?” he asked.

Carwood was taken aback for a second, then he couldn’t help but laugh a little. “That’s what you remember?” he asked, then dodged Ron’s sharp gaze. “Yes, I remembered. You don’t need to worry so much.”

For a minute Ron acted like he was slighted by the comment, arranging his covers and fluffing his pillow with more force than necessary, but when he lay back down he turned back towards Carwood, who was watching him curiously.

“I remember all the important things,” Ron said.

Carwood tilted his head against his pillow. “Such as?”

“You,” Ron answered with a frown, like it was obvious.

Carwood could feel himself growing warmer in the soft light and under Ron’s blunt way of caring. He had a way of asserting his feelings, something of him that just didn’t seem to dim with time. But instead of saying any of it aloud, Carwood just chuckled and joked: “Have mercy on my weak heart, old man.”

“Never,” Ron said flippantly as he leaned over to turn the bedside lamp off.

They were left in the sleepy dark and warm comfort of their bed. It had been a long week and the suitcases were still to be unpacked, but in that moment there was nothing better than yet another night in their own bed. Carwood let out a happy sigh and burrowed into his pillows. Every time he made it into bed he realized just how exhausted he truly was, and despite having been home for a while now he could feel how the trip had taken its toll.

Still, he didn’t regret any of it. He thought back to that endless beach in Europe, to that windy June day and holding onto Ron’s arm as they walked on the sands, staring up to the skies. “Did you have a good time?” he asked, knowing that Ron would have an idea where his thoughts were.

“Yes,” came the reply, but after a moment of hesitation Ron added: “It’s good to be home, though.”

“Yeah,” Carwood agreed wholeheartedly. He could still almost smell the sea and hear the waves, and if he concentrated hard enough on that grey sky over them and wind on his face, he could remember what it was like to plummet through the air and down, down, down. Carwood pressed his face into his pillow, choosing its softness instead. He was glad he was retired; he decided he was going to sleep in the next morning and not get up until he felt like it.

The atmosphere was drowsy, both men utterly drained, and Carwood knew they wouldn’t stay awake much longer, let alone talk. He could sense Ron already drifting off by his side, but before he could, there was one more thing Carwood had to say.

“Hey,” he called out, leaned over and sought Ron out by touch alone, his hand finding his arm as easily as his lips found his cheek, “Good night.” 

Ron’s sigh was deep and he turned to seek out lips with lips, pressing one soft kiss to Carwood’s mouth like sealing their homecoming. He didn’t pull back but spoke against his lips: “Good night.”


End file.
